by J. Stone
The vespari started to see strange things along his travels. More and more loose cattle roamed the area the closer he got to the Barrow Ranch. Had they gotten free from their pen, or were the ranchers moving them? He had to assume the former, as they spread out too much and no one accompanied them. Something had gone awry at the ranch, it seemed.
Night had taken over by the time he was within eyeshot of the ranch. If he hadn’t been so close, he would’ve called it a day and got some rest. Given the nature of things, he decided to press on and see what had happened ahead.
When he caught sight of the fence surrounding the area, Lockhart saw that they’d been broken. A few scarce cattle remained in the pens, but they could easily make their way out if they wanted. Stepping over a section still half up, he headed for the house he could see in the distance.
No light peered out through the windows. Not that he expected any light. Not after the disarray their cattle was in. Under normal circumstances, he would’ve expected them to be out wrangling them, but he suspected that wasn’t the case. Getting closer, he saw the front door was open, swinging and creaking in the wind. A few of the windows had broken or absent panes of glass, the curtains flapping wildly from the storm. Retrieving his revolver, Lockhart kept moving.
Stepping up on the porch, he still didn’t see any sign of life inside. His mad lotus vision had brought him there for a reason though. Lockhart had to know why. The vespari pushed the door out of the way and walked inside the house. The whole place was a wreck. Someone or something had overturned the furniture and thrown things across the room. Broken glass and shattered porcelain covered the floor, but what bothered him most was the blood sprayed over everything.
The metal smell of the blood filled the air, but there was something else. Lockhart sniffed. Gunpowder and smoke. Someone had put up a fight against whatever did this; that much was obvious.
Had the beldams been involved? This seemed unlike them. Messy enough for them, certainly, but he couldn’t see the value in attacking these people, even if they were just hungry. He had to know what had done this, and so he decided to move in and investigate.
There was something familiar about the way the blood splattered against the wall near the kitchen. Lockhart approached it, crunching glass under his boot, but the blood confused and mesmerized him. Getting closer, he realized what it was that he recognized about it. The blood spatter had to have come from a gunshot. He’d relied on his revolver enough to know the blood such a thing leaves behind. The only problem with his supposition was that there wasn’t a body left to prove it. With all the blood loss apparent in that house though, someone had to have died. Multiple people in all likelihood.
Lockhart continued through the house, searching for a survivor or even a body. There was nothing. He found the kitchen ransacked. All the food was gone, preventing him from updating his stocks. The vespari also found a gun rack where a rifle had hung, but it was missing now along with all the ammunition. There was nothing there for him, but as he was about to leave, he saw something he’d so far missed.
Written in blood on the back of the front door was a message. ‘The Gentleman Appreciates Your Hospitality.’ Lockhart had no indication as to what those words meant, but he knew this wasn’t the work of the beldams. This was something else. The Gentleman? He’d never heard that name before, and there was no real evidence that this was a monster. In fact, everything pointed to a human except for the simple fact that there were no bodies left behind. Why would a man kill these people and then take all their bodies?
The mad lotus vision had brought him there for a reason, and though he couldn’t say what it was, he wanted to know what had happened at that ranch. Needed to know. Stepping outside onto the porch, Lockhart found boot prints in the dirt in front of the house. More than just one set. Several different sizes and styles. Whatever had happened there, a group of people left when it was done. Together.
Walking out into the dirt a ways, he kneeled to examine the tracks closer. It wasn’t just sets of boot prints. He found evidence of horse hooves. From what he could piece together, a group of people set out on foot. After that, another person on horseback had followed them. Then that’s what he was doing too, he decided.
Lockhart didn’t want to make that journey on foot though, especially since it was clear they’d left some time prior. He needed to catch up with them and a horse was the best way of doing so. The barn door opened and banged shut against its frame in the wind, garnering his attention. The cattle had escaped, but maybe a horse remained in the barn, he thought.
Standing up from the tracks, he walked to the barn, door still crashing against the frame with each gust of wind. The silver and pearl revolver stayed gripped in his hand. He hadn’t found anything yet, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t any danger there. Just after the door slammed shut again, Lockhart stuck the toe of his boot between the door and the frame. Pulling his foot back, he opened the door and slunk inside. Once he was in, the door crashed again at his back, failing to startle him. His nerves were still and cold.
Lockhart’s eyes peered into the darkness of the barn, only a couple windows full of starlight shining in. There were six stalls for the horses on either side, but the doors were open. Someone had let them go. He crept forward, still hoping that one door remained latched. Nearing the end of the barn, he heard something move. The crinkling of the hay at the ground. Pushing against the wood of the walls. A horse, a survivor, or something he’d have to put a bullet in. Moving ahead, he meant to find out which.
Finally able to peer over the last stall’s door, he saw a figure. Two glossy eyes flashed in the dark, and the beast whinnied at him, stomping its hooves on the ground. Just a horse, and this one looked timid and afraid, huddling in the back of its stall. No longer needing it, Lockhart slid the revolver back in its holster. Showing the horse both his hands, he tried to enter the stall with it.
It whinnied again, clearly afraid of him and his intentions. He needed that horse, and it fearing him was no way to start a relationship. Lockhart backed out of the stall and looked around the barn. There had to be something there he could use to calm it. He spotted a wooden trunk near the entrance, next to the horse saddles. Hoping to find food there for the horse, he went to investigate. Flipping the trunk open, Lockhart didn’t find much inside. He did find something that could help him though.
The Barrows apparently made their own treats from dehydrated fruit for the horses, and there were a few left. Grabbing one, Lockhart stood up and grabbed the saddle before returning to the horse’s stall. He slung the saddle over the wall and pushed open the door. The horse backed up, stomping its foot at him again. Holding out the treat, he moved forward at a slow pace. The horse remained hesitant, but Lockhart was nothing if not persistent.
Holding his hand perfectly level with the mashed ball in his palm, he slid his hand under the horse’s mouth. As the horse saw that he didn’t mean her any harm, the animal started sniffing at the treat. Hesitantly, the horse took the ball and started chewing on it. Meanwhile, Lockhart started petting the horse’s fur, trying his best to win the beast over.
After a few minutes, the horse nipped at an unused button on the vespari’s duster. It was a playful gesture, so Lockhart didn’t mind when she ripped off the extra button and dropped it to the straw-covered ground. Seeing the horse warm up to him, he coaxed her out of the stall. There, he slung the saddle over her and started strapping it to her. She didn’t seem to mind, and after retrieving and giving her another treat, he was able to finish in short order.
Once everything was ready, Lockhart pulled her back to the entrance and then pushed the door open, guiding the horse outside. He slipped his foot through the stirrup and mounted the horse. Making a clicking sound and nudging her gently with his boot, he got her moving forward. He then steered her back toward the entrance to the house, and from there, he set off after the trail of bloody boot prints.
***
Night still reigned when Lockha
rt realized where the tracks were leading him. Delamar. A town a little bigger than Abilene, Delamar served as a trading point for many of the ranchers in the region. It made sense that the Barrow ranchers would have gone there, but Lockhart expected this wasn’t a typical visit.
By the time Lockhart saw Delamar on the horizon, he expected to see something else to give him a clue as to the situation developing. Nothing. No movement, and he still hadn’t caught up with anyone despite running the horse all night. Dawn would arrive soon, which he wasn’t sure whether would make matters better or worse. Some of the things he hunted were skittish in the light; others were enraged. Given he didn’t know what he tracked, he couldn’t say how it would affect things.
Getting closer, the vespari finally saw something moving. He lost sight of it though, as it entered a building. Having a bad feeling surge through him, Lockhart dismounted off the horse and walked alongside her the rest of the way to the town. Once he got there, his eyes scoured over every inch of Delamar he could see.
His eyes didn’t catch anything new, but his ears did. A horse. Potentially the one whose tracks he’d been following. Entering the main walkway of the town, he passed an empty looking feed store and found a horse tied to the post outside it. Deciding it had to be the horse he’d followed, Lockhart approached to examine. He tied up his own horse to the post and looked at the new horse’s saddle. Emblazoned into the leather just like the one he’d taken were the words, Barrow Ranch. This was it, but what did it all mean?
The horse carried no further clues in its saddlebags, so Lockhart left his satchel with his horse and went in search of the person he saw entering a building. Closer now, he could see that it had been a saloon advertising dancing girls, gambling, and good whiskey. He doubted anything but the whiskey was still in there. The door hung half off its hinges, and just like at the Barrow Ranch, many of the windows were broken, their glass scattered about. Whatever happened there, it happened here too.
Lockhart slid the revolver out of its holster and stepped onto the wooden planks of the saloon’s entrance. With so much darkness around, the vespari couldn’t make out any movement inside, but he did hear it. Someone pilfering. They threw furniture and objects aside, in search of something. There was likely more than a few silver rounds in the register, but this seemed like an awful lot of trouble to go to just to rob a saloon. Why would they do this? He didn’t know, but at least the culprit would be distracted.
Moving past the broken door, Lockhart caught the silhouette. The thing hunched over, pulling things out of a wooden trunk and tossing them wildly away. It made guttural panting noises with each swipe of its arms. This made Lockhart expect a ravenous beast of some sort, but this was no beast. It wore clothes like a man.
Above the creature, Lockhart spotted more words painted on the wall in red. Just as with the Barrow Ranch, he found the same message. ‘The Gentleman Appreciates Your Hospitality.’ Not paying attention to his footing, he took another step forward, finding a creaky board beneath his boot.
The creature’s head swiveled about, revealing a bloody maw of jagged teeth. Its eyes were bloodshot, and much of its hair had fallen out in clumps. The creature had gnawed its fingers down to bony claws, and it made a sound like it was going to throw up. A ghoul. Where there was one, he had to expect dozens. He didn’t have enough bullets for this. Kneeling down, Lockhart retrieved the knife from his boot, gripping it in his other hand. He’d have to conserve ammo if he wanted to make it out of this situation.
The ghoul, meanwhile, twisted the rest of the way around, screeched, and then charged at him. The thing was wild and undisciplined. Lockhart had no difficulty in moving out of the clawed hands’ reach, and he slid the knife easily into the side of the ghoul’s head. The creature fell limp, and Lockhart pulled his blade out, causing the ghoul to fall to the floor.
Checking that its shriek hadn’t drawn any more of its ghouls, Lockhart then turned his attention to the one at his feet. Ghouls had varying origins, and he intended to find out where this one had come from. Nudging it onto its back with his boot, the vespari kneeled down to examine the body. This one turned some time back. With ghouls, you want to kill them quickly. The longer they lived, the stronger they get. This one’s speed and strength told him it hadn’t converted here. Aside from the typical mutilations of the body, Lockhart only found one other thing of note. In its chest, he found a bullet hole.
Ripping the shirt and pulling it out of the way, he examined the wound a little closer. The ghoul’s skin was pale and exposed the blue veins underneath, but around the wound, the veins were black. Black sludge even leaked out of the wound. Lifting up the body, he checked for an exit wound. There was none, so he dropped the ghoul back down.
Sticking the tip of his knife into the wound, Lockhart searched the wound for the bullet. He felt the click of metal against his blade and pushed the knife deeper to get under the bullet. He then pried it out, popping a little black ball from the hole. As the chunk of metal landed on the wood floorboards, it sizzled, releasing a black smoke. Lockhart stood and stepped back, watching as the bullet evaporated before him. Though he’d never seen anything quite like this, he knew what had created the ghoul.
A revenant. A wicked person that refused to peacefully pass on after their death and came back to the land of the living. This one had to have been a gunslinger in life apparently. Revenants could sow disease and disorder among the living, and some were able to create ghouls to do their bidding. This revenant could apparently do it through his diseased bullets. He must’ve converted all the bodies at the Barrow Ranch. That’s why Lockhart hadn’t found any of its victims. The revenant was likely doing the same thing in Delamar. When created in this manner, ghouls didn’t wander far from their revenant creator, so that meant this undead creature was likely still in the town.
Leaving the saloon, Lockhart walked back to the main street of Delamar. He didn’t want to hide. He wanted the ghouls and the revenant to know he was there. Draw them out into the open. He could deal with them there. Unfortunately, his plan didn’t seem to be working. There was no movement from the buildings, and certainly nothing in the streets.
Just when the vespari feared the revenant might’ve fled already, he heard a gunshot. He assumed that it was the revenant collecting another ghoul, and so he raced toward its location. Then came another shot. With this repetition, he got a better idea of what had fired the shot. His ears told him it was a rifle. The weapon didn’t make much sense given the wound he found on the ghoul. That had been the work of a smaller weapon - a revolver not unlike his own if he were to guess. Did this mean there was a survivor in Delamar? There was a third shot, and after about a minute, he tracked the sounds to an alleyway between the hotel and general store.
Three bodies littered the alley. Three ghouls. This wasn’t the work of the revenant, but whoever had done it, hadn’t stuck around. Checking over the bodies, Lockhart saw that the shooter had good aim. They’d hit each of the ghouls square in the head, blown their brains from their skulls. Runed bullets or otherwise, they weren’t coming back from a shot like that.
Lockhart moved past the bodies, searching for who’d fired the rifle. He exited out to another street, where he saw a woman with a rifle and a dark clothed figure. The vespari assumed that the woman must’ve been the one he tracked there from the ranch - the one on horseback. A survivor of the attack on the Barrow Ranch? He didn’t know, but if she’d lost people there, he understood what she was doing here now, foolish as it was.
Her skin was a tanned color, but her knuckles were white where she gripped her rifle. Her long black hair fell in straight strands past her shoulders. She wore no dress, instead opting for clothes more typically associated to a man. A button up shirt with light blue jeans and heavy leather boots on her feet.
As for the dark figure, Lockhart knew a revenant when he saw one. Pale, greasy skin and a lithe frame. This one dressed itself in an expensive black suit. Gold rings lined its fingers. A silver necklac
e hung from its neck, and even a chain hung from a pocket, looped through a buttonhole in his vest. A pocket watch? Expensive taste for a revenant. The undead thing wore a tall top hat, its wide brim shading its face. He smiled wide, and his eyes gleamed yellow, shining through the shade of the hat. It was the same face he’d seen in his mad lotus induced dream. He was right where he was supposed to be.
The two figures stood in opposite directions from Lockhart. The woman on his right, the revenant to his left. The town barber sat between them. The woman had taken up a position behind a row of barrels left outside the buildings, while the revenant stood there, guns not yet drawn. Lockhart could see the scene playing out before his eyes, and there was little he could do to stop it. He knew exactly how it would end if he didn’t do something. It all happened so fast though.
The woman stood from the barrels and fired her rifle at the gunslinger, hitting him square in the chest. His frame went limp, as the force knocked him backward and to the ground. She smiled, lowering the rifle and moving out from behind the row of barrels. He had to stop her.
“Down!” Lockhart shouted, running toward her.
The woman didn’t listen, moving closer to the fallen revenant. Lockhart knew something she didn’t. That thing wasn’t dead. Just before the vespari could reach her, the revenant lurched upright and aimed its twin pistols at her. He fired both barrels as Lockhart charged her to knock her from their path. He felt one rush behind him, but the other lodged in the woman’s shoulder. They both landed on the ground behind the barrels, providing cover from the revenant’s gunfire.
After the first two shots, no more followed. Lockhart pushed himself off the woman and snuck a peek over the barrels. The revenant was gone, and he saw no sign of anymore of its ghouls.